


Under the Skin

by N1ghtshade



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Book/Movie: Prince Caspian, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Werewolves, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27375541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtshade/pseuds/N1ghtshade
Summary: While recovering from the werewolf bite during the battle in Aslan's How, Caspian wonders how much danger he is truly in, and whether a wolf is the only monster he needs to fear becoming.Fusion of the events of the book and movie.
Relationships: Caspian & Doctor Cornelius (Narnia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	Under the Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [just_another_outcast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_outcast/gifts), [NatalieRyan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatalieRyan/gifts).



No one knows that much about werewolves. Even Dr. Cornelius's books were vague on that front. They're abberations, unnatural things, trapped by the forces of dark magic. There are conflicting stories of them being created by the White Witch herself, or of them simply being cursed beings who have transgressed the magic of Narnia in some way and pay the price. One story claims that anyone who kills a talking animal knowingly and without remorse is in danger of becoming a werewolf. If that was true, then half the Telmarine army would have been werewolves. But another story says the curse is passed down by the bite.

A bite like the one currently festering in Caspian's shoulder. He knows he should have told Lucy about it. But he hadn't been able to bear looking at any of the Kings and Queens after the near-disaster at the Stone Table, and she was so busy healing those wounded in the battle at the How that he'd left her to care for those with more serious wounds. And then he'd simply forgotten. The pressure of his new role as king had taken up most of his thoughts, and a healing wound had been the least of his concerns.

At least until it began bleeding again. The day after the Kings and Queens returned to their world, he had been riding with the centaurs to deliver the news in person to the scattered colonies of Narnians in hiding who had chosen not to go to war, when he'd noticed the blood soaking the sleeve of his shirt.

He'd attributed it to overextending himself during the ride. He'd cleaned and bandaged it again and thought little more about it. Until he woke up the next morning tired, sweating, and with his shoulder in more pain than he'd felt since he was first bitten.

He'd turned back to the castle at the insistence of the centaurs. He was in no condition to ride the long distances necessary to carry the news, and while he wanted to inform the Narnians in person, he also did not want to slow the centaurs down. A few rogue bands of Telmarine soldiers still roamed the country, and in case of an attack the centaurs ought to be able to fight or flee without needing to worry for his safety.

He'd assumed a meeting of the council, the first council of his rule and the first to include native Narnians in the roster, would not be overly taxing. After all, it was only sitting and talking.

He'd stumbled on the steps of the council dais, and it had been impossible to hide what was wrong any longer. The new court physician, a young faun with a deep scar on one leg and a perpetual collection of herb sprigs tucked beside his horns, had practically ordered him into bed. Which is where he is now, his arm wrapped in a poultice and bandages.

Dr. Cornelius is in the library, searching his books for any more information on the werewolf and treatment of the wounds it causes. The physician is rushing in and out, his hooves clicking loudly on the stone floors each time, a sound that drums in Caspian's pounding skull. 

He's burning hot, a fever like he hasn't felt since he was a boy aching like a fire in his bones. The room seems too close and confining. The shutters are closed, because the light was like a sword stabbing into his eyes, but he thinks he should open them, try and let in a breeze. It must be evening, the light will be less painful now.

He staggers to his feet, stumbling across the room, but stops short when he sees himself in the mirror. He barely recognizes the face looking back at him. Drawn and grey with illness, his teeth too prominent, his eyes too bright. The stubble growing on his cheeks and chin is rough and makes his whole face look strange. 

He tells himself it's a trick of the lack of light and turns toward the shutters, pushing them open. A mercifully cool breeze blows in, and the moonlight gleams through as well, falling on his face and hands. He looks down and barely stops himself from screaming. His fingers are clawed, covered with grey fur...like a wolf.

He turns away from the window, but he's dizzy and weak, and he stumbles, leaning on a table, and when he raises his head, he can see himself in the mirror.

His ears lengthen, his teeth sharpen, and his face twists into the same horrible monstrous thing that tried to kill him in the How. And then he does scream, the sound rough in his raw throat. 

When the door flies open, both Dr. Cornelius and the faun on the other side, he expects them to scream too. Who wouldn't, seeing the monster he's become? But they don't look any more distressed than a general frustration at seeing him out of the bed they warned him not to leave. He glances at the mirror again, and it's his own face there. 

"You must not leave your bed, your highness," the physician fusses, resting his hand on Caspian's forehead, frowning, and holding up a cup of some bitter liquid for him to drink. 

Caspian is too weak and exhausted to argue. The nightmare has shaken him. He's afraid to close his eyes, but he's so tired...

He's woken by the sensation of something touching his face. He blinks, and opens his eyes. He's alone in the room, but he can see why he woke.

The moonlight is still shining through the open window, and glancing from the mirror directly into his face. He needs to shut the window or move the mirror. He pushes the blankets back and staggers to his feet. The light in his face is blinding.

He pushes slightly at the mirror with one hand, praying he doesn't fall flat on his face to the floor. The reflection seems to shiver and distort, and even though he doesn't want to look, his eyes are drawn to it.

The face staring back at him is human. But that's more terrifying than the wolf. Because the face in the mirror now is that of Miraz.

He feels himself slipping to the floor, blackness closing in, and his uncle's cruel smirk still burned into his mind behind his closed eyes. 

The next time he wakes, it's to a song.

The voice is familiar, the song a lullaby he knows. A Narnian lullaby. The last time he heard this song he was only a boy, being soothed to sleep by his nurse. He blinks slowly, looking up at her.

Her hair is pure white now, her face lined with more traces of both worry and love. But her eyes are just the same.

"They told me you were ill."

Her hands are gentle, soothing, just as they were when he sobbed himself to restless sleep after his father died. When his mother followed him, leaving Caspian an orphan, adrift. She rests a cool cloth on his head for the fever and brushes his sweat-soaked hair away from his face. 

"Just rest." Her words seem to have weight, holding him down against the pillows. "You have been in fever dreams all night."

That explains the wolf and Miraz. When he was a boy, he'd dreamed of falling endlessly, or being lost in the forest. Now, he has other fears. It's only logical that they've replaced his childish ones. 

"Your uncle will never touch you again," she says. Caspian frowns. He must have mentioned Miraz's name out loud in his dreams. He wonders if she thinks he was dreaming of what happened when she was still his nurse. Wrapping the bruises, fussing over his swollen eye and his cut lip. Before he learned how to appease and avoid his uncle's rage. But he's not afraid of that, not anymore. He's afraid of what's in him. They're related by blood. Who's to say the same blackness that was in his uncle's heart isn't inside his own?

"Will I become like him? Will the throne corrupt me too?"

"Miraz was corrupt long before he ever came to the throne." The nurse wrings out the cloth in the water and rests it against his forehead again.

"I feel foolish. For risking my own life, for putting my people's new safety in danger, because I didn't want to seem weak."

"You are hardly more than a boy. You are expected to make mistakes. And I know why you made this one." Her voice is soft, and her smile is sad. "You were taught not to lean on anyone. Miraz took me away from you, you had few you could trust in this place besides."

Caspian nods. It was a risky thing to ask for help, in his world, up until now. Aside from Dr. Cornelius, he had been unable to truly trust anyone. Even his uncle was cold, seeming to see him paradoxically as both a man old enough to care for himself and a boy who was not allowed to question his authority.

"You don't need to be alone anymore. You aren't alone." 


End file.
